The Tale of Hum Hum and LoLeena
by Kaligula
Summary: Just what I assumed would be a chance encounter between the recently widowed Mr. Haze and the newly placed little Esther. Slight voy. Tried my best to imitate the great Nabokov's style.


_AN: This is a short -very, very short- little piece that details a chance encounter between old Hum and the beautiful Esther Coleman. Obvious time-warp. Placed in the 1950's._

* * *

After my bile-inducing banishment from the Haze household, as Mama Haze flew flightily out into the street to warn her darling Dolly of my perversion, I went into the kitchen and began preparing drinks to mollify the babbling, bawling Babba in high hopes that I could persuade her to see my side of the situation. I was an aspiring author, after all, and even with her minuscule mind Mama Haze should've been able to cope and comprehend my use, misuse, or abuse -whichever, whatever, and so on- of their lovely little nyms and whims and quims in my happily hidden little booklet. I was not so very frantic or frenzied as the reader might think at this point. No, in fact, I had a strange sense of soothing reassurance in my soul -if old Hum Hum even had one! Ha!

Nevertheless, as you fine ladies and gentlemen of the jury surely pieced together by this pinnacle point in my pointless, parodic tale of woe, ole' Mother Haze's slanderous secrets would never see the light of little Lo's curious eyes or ears. For the wretched old cow was slain by the mightiest of men, Mr. Fate, up to his delectably, deliciously deviant deeds yet again in horrible Father Hum's favor. Visibly shocked and silently elated, I wandered about on flighted foot and dangerous dream, in a sweetly Hazy daze, as wondrous wonders entered my weary, weathered state o' mind about the lovely, lithe little treasure -my lovely Lolita, for God's sake!- that I would have full custody and control over for a rounded, rushingly ripe and ready few years.

As I skipped and skidded around in the warm afternoon sun, I caught the slightest sight of the strangest, most phenomenal of little phenomenons that ever phased the past, present, or future. A young nymphette, barely coming into her nymphancy at only about nine or ten years old at the most, swinging excitedly on the contraption made for swinging as she did in the playground near our house. Her bloodless, albino skin -that of an elite porcelain doll of the very highest of orders- curved into perfect, pink-painted baby cheeks on her impeccable face, and between those cheeks was the uncannily flushed and upturned nose of a lumbering lush. South of those beauties was a pair of rust red, perfectly plump lips, parted and pouted, intervening and interchanging as her emotions spun and splayed as openly as possible on her face. Up north were those frosty silver-indigo orbs, so clear and concise, so judgmental and mature for such a young girl-child. Her thick tendrils of the ever-best of ebonies framed her cordate countenance like dutiful black curtains would frame a blindingly beautiful spotlight.

There was a quietly cloying quality to the claim she had over poor Humbert's eyes which kept him standing stationary and still. But, also a malevolence, a subtle malignancy that crept hideously around her fragile form. Oh, dear God, what sorcery was this? Who could this beguiling little blood-sucker be, with her shining sapphire eyes and mischevious, blood-stained lips? Her sweet chuckles and immaculate sing-songs suggested a siren. (Take me under, dear water nymph of the deep!)

Hum Hum faltered when he noticed that the skirt of the Gothic frock that the nameless nymphette donned so daringly would rise so ravishingly as she flew in the greedy breeze, chancing him a candied, candid shot of her lanky limbs and naughty knickers. The Goth girl was accompanied by her plain-Jane mother and father. But, no, what is this? -the blond floozy stepped away with her own brat in tow and waved a watchful goodbye to the average-as-average-could-be Daddy, who slowed his daughter's swing to a shuddering stop, gathering her in his arms, much to my immense dismay -for my eyes had become the nastiest shade of green one could ever imagine- and none-too-languid loathing, and setting the giggling little Goth to the ground and walking hand-in-hand with her as they left the premises of the playground.

Oh, out of sight, out of mind, Old Humbert! But, try as I might, the fleeting vision of that baby vampire and her doddering, doting old man haunted me all the way home. Luckily, the sight of my sun-kissed, wide-grinned Lolita as I picked her up from her camp a clawful of days later, adorned in a tight-fitting pair of shorts and matching tank top, her honeyed, wispy locks tied tightly in a binding band, fixed my straying brain as quickly as she came.


End file.
